


Helping Hands

by miss_begonia



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, The Good Wife (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blow Jobs, Crossover, First Time, Hand Jobs, Kissing, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Power Play, Teasing, Threesome - M/M/M, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-19
Updated: 2014-01-19
Packaged: 2018-01-09 07:52:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1143444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miss_begonia/pseuds/miss_begonia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cary kisses like it's a contest and he's going to win. He's overwhelming, unpredictable, a little bit rough. Grantaire likes rough. He could be convinced to get rougher, if that's what Cary likes, Cary and his sharp suits and pretty hands, pretty hands that are tugging at Grantaire's hair, steering the kiss. Grantaire is struggling for breath. He can feel Cary's other hand on the back of his neck, guiding, holding--</p>
<p>"What are you doing?"</p>
<p>Cary's voice is hoarse, rough like his kisses. Grantaire blinks his eyes open.</p>
<p>"Helping," Enjolras says, and doesn’t lift his hand from Grantaire’s skin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Helping Hands

**Author's Note:**

  * For [goshemily](https://archiveofourown.org/users/goshemily/gifts).



Grantaire watches Cary pull off his gloves, biting his lip. He can feel Enjolras watch him watch Cary, can feel the frown he knows Enjolras is making. It’s the look Enjolras always wears when he’s angry but doesn’t know how to be angry, who to be angry at.

Grantaire takes a sip of his wine. He’s draped across a chair, already tipsy from the drinks at the bar. He watches Cary palm his gloves and lift his gaze, his eyes flickering over to where Grantaire sits.

Cary places his gloves on a table next to the couch, stands in front of Grantaire, and runs a hand through Grantaire’s curls. His fingers catch. He tugs until Grantaire lifts his chin and meets hie eyes.

Grantaire doesn't know how to read Cary, not like he can read Enjolras. Enjolras, who he can feel staring at him, and what can Enjolras be thinking? Why did he come back with them? He had said: I don’t want you to be alone with him. Not: I don’t want you to be with him. Grantaire's heart is pounding. 

And then Cary kisses him.

Cary kisses like it's a contest and he's going to win. He's overwhelming, unpredictable, a little bit rough. Grantaire likes rough. He could be convinced to get rougher, if that's what Cary likes, Cary and his sharp suits and pretty hands, pretty hands that are tugging at Grantaire's hair, steering the kiss. Grantaire is struggling for breath. He can feel Cary's other hand on the back of his neck, guiding, holding--

"What are you doing?"

Cary's voice is hoarse, rough like his kisses. Grantaire blinks his eyes open.

"Helping," Enjolras says, and doesn’t lift his hand from Grantaire’s skin.

"Maybe I don't need your help," Cary says.

"Maybe you do," Enjolras says. "R?"

Grantaire glances from Enjolras to Cary. "I have no idea what is happening right now."

"Your friend Enjolras is negotiating," Cary says.

"It's not a negotiation, and we don't need your advice or mediation," Enjolras says. "This is a choice, and it belongs to R."

Grantaire's head spins. Cary is glaring at Enjolras, and Enjolras is flushed like he gets right before he punches someone in the face.

Grantaire is so turned on it hurts.

"What if I don't want to choose?" he says.

There is a sudden silence.

Grantaire has a moment where he panics, sure that one or both of them is going to leave. But Cary merely eases his hold on Grantaire's hair (No, Grantaire thinks, I like that--) and steps back, his mouth turning up into a smirk.

"If that's your choice, then I respect that," Cary says. "Fair warning, though - I'm not good at taking second billing. If we're going to do this, I'm going to play to win."

Enjolras looks like he's not quite sure what he's gotten himself into. Grantaire isn't sure either, but he likes that. He likes the way Enjolras's eyes travel over him, taking him in, the way he lets one hand drift over Grantaire's face, his thumb dragging along his lower lip, pressing in where it's swollen from Cary's kisses.

"I agree to your terms," Enjolras says, as if they are shaking on a treaty. "Your move."

Cary pauses for a moment. He's still wearing his pale pink Oxford shirt, open at the collar, his tie loose. His navy blue pants have sharp creases. He looks like a man who has his clothes tailored. 

When he looks at Grantaire, he smiles with his eyes. Grantaire loves that. It's hot as hell. He'd watched Cary do it at the bar while talking to Alicia, a glass of scotch in his hand, his head tilted to the side. He'd stopped in the middle of a sentence Grantaire couldn't quite make out, focused his gaze on him, and winked.

"You ready?" Cary asks.

"For anything," Grantaire says, and watches Cary's eyes darken.

"Stand up," Cary orders.

"But I'm comfortable," Grantaire says.

Cary leans in and takes Grantaire's wine glass, brings it to his lips and downs the last swallow. He places it on the table next to his gloves.

"Grantaire," he says. "Stand. Up."

Grantaire would like to say he doesn't scramble, but he does. So fast and clumsy he almost trips, and Cary places one hand at his waist to steady him.

"How sloppy are you?" Cary says.

"Not too sloppy," Grantaire says. "Definitely not too--"

He should be more prepared, somehow, for Cary's kiss, but this time they are standing and Cary pushes into him, presses him against the back of the couch, one hand still curled around his hip while the other finds its way back to Grantaire's hair.

"I've been wanting to fuck you since you came into my office," Cary whispers, harsh, against Grantaire's neck. "I probably shouldn't say that, should I? Not very professional--"

"I would have let you have me over your desk," Grantaire says. "I'm not that into social niceties, so--"

Grantaire can hear Enjolras clear his throat, and Cary makes a frustrated noise. 

"I think it's my turn," Enjolras says.

"What if I don't agree?" Cary says. Grantaire notes the flush in Cary's cheeks, the way one of his hands clenches at his side.

"It's not up to you," Enjolras says, putting up his hands.

Grantaire's eyes trace the line of Enjolras's jaw, thinking of the many times he's admired it, daydreaming while Enjolras works himself into a political fury fueled by the injustices of the oppressed, the tyranny of the rich, the unfairness of the world.

He straightens, and Cary moves away with a muffled sigh.

"Do what you will, Enjolras," Grantaire says.

He can hear Cary snort behind him, but he doesn't care. He watches Enjolras approach, all leonine grace and long lines and narrow fingers. Enjolras reaches out and takes Grantaire's hand.

"Be honest," Enjolras says. "Do you want me here?"

"I vote no," Cary intones behind him, and Grantaire likes that, likes the way he claims him, even if he has no intention of telling Enjolras to go.

"I always want you here," Grantaire says. It is the truth, and it is undeniable.

"Kalinda says you two aren't fucking," Cary says, "which is just weird."

Enjolras lifts a hand and presses it to Grantaire's cheek. "I'm not trying to interfere."

"Um, that is exactly what you're doing," Cary says.

"I want you to be safe," Enjolras says. "That is all."

"Oh Christ," Grantaire hears Cary mutter under his breath.

"Enjolras," Grantaire says, "is this your version of competing?"

Enjolras stares at him for a moment, then tugs Grantaire forward. He lifts his hand to his lips and kisses Grantaire's fingertips, one by one.

Grantaire is a shivering mess when Enjolras is done.

"Go ahead, Mr. Agos," he hears Enjolras say over his own throbbing pulse. "You're up."

Cary is staring at them both, his lips parted. He seems to have a moment of hesitation, but then he says, "Come here."

Grantaire shuffles over, his heartbeat too fast. He’s sweating. Cary reaches out and takes the hand Enjolras kissed, tugging him forward until they are pressed together, until he can feel Cary inhale.

"Tell me," Cary says, "what you want him to do to you."

Grantaire's stomach drops. He looks up into Cary's sharp eyes and feels Cary squeeze his hand more tightly.

"I don't know if--" he starts to say.

"Don't look at him," Cary says. "Don't lie. You know what you want."

I never thought anyone would ask, Grantaire wants to say. He takes in a deep breath.

"I want him to touch me," Grantaire says.

"Like this?" Cary says, and Grantaire feels Cary's hand slide over the zipper of his pants.

Grantaire's head falls back. "Yes. God--"

"Be more specific," Cary says.

"I want him to make me come in my pants," Grantaire says. "Make me lose control--"

Cary's hand moves up and down, the pressure more purposeful, his eyes not leaving Grantaire's face.

“What else?” Cary says.

“I want to suck him off,” Grantaire says, his voice barely above a whisper. Cary’s hand cups him through his pants. He can feel Cary breathing, can hear the way his breath hitches on the inhale.

“More,” Cary says.

“I want to see him fall apart,” Grantaire says. Cary’s lips graze his neck, his collarbone, his teeth scraping over heated skin.

“You think he would let you do this?” Cary says. His voice is smoky, soft. 

Grantaire wants to cry. Cary presses the heel of his hand into Grantaire’s cock, and Grantaire knows he could come from this. Just from talking about it, from saying it out loud, with Cary and his clever hands and his kisses like promises along his throat.

“Stop,” Grantaire hears someone say, and there is Enjolras, standing inches away, his hands fisted at his sides.

“Why stop?” Cary asks. “I’m enjoying this.”

Enjolras’s face is red, and his lip is bleeding like he bit through it. He says, “I think we can share.”

Cary’s smile is evil. “Now you want to share?”

“I don’t want to watch this,” Enjolras says. “I can’t just...I can’t watch this.”

“Then what do you want?” Cary asks, his eyes narrowing. “Your move.”

Grantaire has seen Enjolras look like this before - his jaw locked, every muscle tight and ready. It’s his fighting stance. 

He’s fighting for me, Grantaire realizes.

Enjolras moves in closer, his hand coming to rest at Grantaire’s waist. Grantaire turns without having to be coaxed, and there Enjolras is, his eyes a stormy grey-blue.

"Can I kiss you?" Enjolras asks.

Grantaire nods, mesmerized, and Enjolras reaches for him, hands framing his face as their lips meet.

There is no reason to compare Cary and Enjolras. If Cary kisses to win, Enjolras kisses like he already has, deep and slow, his hands pressing to Grantaire's cheeks, his breath coming fast.

He feels Cary's hands at his hips, and then Cary is close behind him, every part of his body hard against him. Cary slips his hands under Grantaire's shirt, pushing up the fabric. Grantaire allows himself to be undressed, breaking his kiss to let Cary slip his shirt over his head.

"Do you really want that?" Enjolras asks, his voice low. "What you said, before?"

"Only if you want it," Grantaire says, lowering his eyes.

"He wants it," Cary says, and when Grantaire looks up he sees Enjolras standing there, his shirt wrinkled, his tie askew, shoulders heaving.

Enjolras reaches out and places his hand on top of Grantaire's head, tangling in his curls.

And then he presses down.

Grantaire goes to his knees without resistance. Enjolras's breath is ragged as he unbuckles his belt, unbuttons his pants and pulls the zipper down.

"I don't know how to tell you..." Enjolras says, and Grantaire realizes his hands are shaking.

"You need some help giving instructions?" Cary says. "Because I'm good at that."

Grantaire hears, Stand. Up. He feels his face heat.

Enjolras watches Cary, his eyes flicking from him to Grantaire at his feet. Finally, he nods. It is a gesture Grantaire is familiar with, being one of Enjolras's soldiers. 

It means: I am trusting you.

"Touch him first," Cary says.

Grantaire lifts his hand to the open fly of Enjolras's pants, pushing his fingers between the folds of fabric. He finds Enjolras hard and ready, and the moment Grantaire touches him his eyelids flutter. He makes a soft sound, a sound that gets louder when Grantaire begins to stroke him.

"That's good," Cary says. "Tease him. Make him beg for it."

Grantaire tightens his grip, letting his thumb drag over the head on the upstroke.

"Ohhh God," Enjolras says. "R--"

"Lick your hand," Cary says.

Grantaire removes his hand and offers it to Enjolras, who stares at him, heavy-lidded, before he takes it and drags his tongue across it. When Grantaire begins stroking him again, this time it's easier, more slick.

"Please, R," Enjolras whispers.

"You can use your mouth," Cary says, and when Grantaire looks up he sees Cary is sprawled on the couch, palming himself through his pants, his eyes not leaving the two of them.

"How should I use it?" Grantaire asks.

"Your tongue around the head, first," Cary says.

Grantaire has to lean forward and free Enjolras's cock from his pants, and he takes a moment to admire the tableau - Enjolras, still mostly clothed, grasping for purchase against the wall as Grantaire touches his tongue to the head of his cock, circling it, flicking over the slit.

"Fuck," Enjolras states, and as Grantaire licks around the head he can see Cary unbutton his pants and take himself in hand. His head tips back.

“Cary,” Grantaire says, his voice raspy, and Cary looks at him, lips parted, his breathing uneven.

“What?” Cary asks. 

“I don’t want you over there,” Grantaire says. “It doesn’t seem fair.”

Enjolras’s hand slides over the back of Grantaire’s neck, a gesture that is as much about owning as it is demanding expediency. Cary is staring at Grantaire, his head cocked to one side, amusement coloring his features.

“Where do you want me?” Cary asks.

“Stand up,” Grantaire says, and Cary swallows.

Grantaire has done a lot of things in his life that might qualify as kinky, but he has never done this. He watches Cary walk over and takes the head of Enjolras’s cock back into his mouth, savoring Enjolras’s surprised groan.

When Grantaire draws back he finds Cary there, looking down at him, one eyebrow raised.

“You’re in the driver’s seat now,” Cary says, and Grantaire feels power strum through him, thrilling and terrifying.

Grantaire unbuckles Cary’s belt, touching him carelessly through his slacks, feeling how hard he is. Cary isn’t pretending to be composed now, his skin flushing to the color of his shirt. When Grantaire pulls out Cary’s cock, he exhales.

If Grantaire had been teasing Enjolras under Cary’s direction, he does no such thing with Cary. Instead he moves forward and swallows him down, feeling the way Cary tenses. “Shit,” Cary breathes, and pushes his hand into Grantaire’s hair and holds him there. Grantaire is not surprised that Cary wants to steer.

“R,” Grantaire hears, and slides off to see Enjolras, gazing at him open-mouthed. Grantaire reaches for Enjolras’s cock and strokes him, then takes him into his mouth, more deeply now, moving up and down. 

He falls into a rhythm, alternating between them, controlling and being controlled. Enjolras scrapes his fingers against the paint on the walls; Cary grips Grantaire’s hair, his neck, lets his hands curl round his shoulders. The moment he feels either of them begin to get close, he switches. It is the best kind of torture.

Then Enjolras begins to beg.

“Please, R,” he whispers. “Please, let me come. Let me--”

Grantaire slides his hand up and down Cary’s cock, thumbing over the head, and watches Cary bite his lip. Cary nods.

This time Grantaire takes Enjolras into his mouth and sucks, uses every trick he knows, every dirty little thing he’s picked up in a random hook-up or casual fuck, pins Enjolras to the wall and uses the sounds he makes as a guide. When he groans longer, deeper, louder, Grantaire speeds up, sucks harder, does his damndest and watches Enjolras come apart.

It is everything Grantaire ever wanted. The implacable hero, brought to the brink. He is a mess. He is beautiful.

“God,” Enjolras says, his eyes fluttering open, but it is Cary who lifts Grantaire to his feet.

“You’re not--” Grantaire says, but Cary shakes his head.

“It’s your turn,” Cary says. “Kiss him.”

Grantaire licks his lips, and the moment Enjolras leans in is also the moment Cary’s hand slips between them and encircles Grantaire’s cock. It feels like a miracle. Grantaire blinks tears out of his eyes and feels Cary crowd against his back, cock hard against Grantaire’s ass, his hand bringing Grantaire closer and closer to the edge.

“I didn’t know,” Enjolras says, between kisses, and Grantaire can feel Cary laughing silently behind him.

“You know now,” Grantaire whispers. He feels Enjolras smile against his lips as Grantaire comes, his whole world this moment, this feeling, this touch.

[end]


End file.
